


Hearts and Bones

by AngelinaVansen (catherineflowers)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Resolutions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Control, F/M, New Earth (Star Trek), Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/pseuds/AngelinaVansen
Summary: A kinky little piece set on one of those AU New Earths where Janeway and Chakotay acted like human beings and slept together.





	Hearts and Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the early 2000s for the twistedjc list.
> 
> Content warning for rough play and consent issues.

Kathryn hasn’t seen Chakotay for an hour, and on New Earth, that’s practically a lifetime. She doesn’t feel right.

Her insect traps are empty, too. All of them. Usually she’ll get a couple of the fruitfly bugs at least, especially on a balmy day like this. Instead, the traps are empty, dangling and grey from each of the trees.

It feels a little eerie, if she’s honest. This clearing feels bewitched. Loneliness sometimes does that, making everything on this planet seem enchanted. The swinging traps remind her somehow of ancient pagan charms. Somehow she feels as though she’s trespassing on sacred ground. The hair on the back of her neck is prickling.

It must be because she is still mad at Chakotay. An hour ago, they made love for the first time, gently and sweetly, in a clearing not far from here.

He, being Chakotay, had been tender and reverent, big hands everywhere while he had pushed into her rhythmically. Kathryn had panted and fretted. The soft woodland air over the sweat on her brow, the soft woodland sounds drowned by her harsh needy breath. The whole time he had shushed her and kissed her with those full thick lips all over her body.

She had been impressed by his stamina, too; they had gone for a long while, long enough for her to build steadily to two good, strong orgasms, wailing and clutching at his back. 

Afterwards, they had lain out on the grass and let the sweetly fragrant sweat cool as midday turned to afternoon.

Then he had turned to her, one of his enigmatic ghost-smiles forming on his lips. “Thank-you,” he had said in that soft voice of his.

“For what?” she had asked, lightly enough. 

“Well, you know ... for this,” he had told her. 

She had laughed a little, but it had annoyed her, too. It had seemed absurd that he was grateful. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him thanking Seska in the afterglow.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you,” he had said then.

“Why would you think that?” she had asked, letting the spite creep into her tone.

“You’ve had to let go of a lot to get to this point, Kathryn,” his rich voice had whispered. “I don’t want you to think I’m unappreciative of that.”

The rapport they had built up during their lovemaking was gone. Suddenly she hadn’t wanted to be naked with this man. She had brought her knees together, and hugged them to her chest, like she was trying to conceive a baby, which, of course, she wasn‘t. “It’s obviously taken YOU a lot as well,” she had spat. “Most men would have pounced as soon as Voyager went out of hailing range.”

“You sound disappointed,” he told her in a low voice.

“Well, I did wonder,” she had taunted, “what happened to that fine specimen of a Maquis I captured. I thought maybe serving Starfleet had sapped the masculinity right out of you.”

She had narrowed her eyes. “Judging from that timid little fuck, I’d say my instincts were dead on.”

He had growled in his throat and gotten up, not even bothering to pick up his clothes before he stomped off towards his private retreat in the woods.

Kathryn had laughed a little, pleased that she had gotten to him. He had gotten just a little too content these past few weeks. She had wanted to show him complacency wasn’t the way to win her heart. 

Still, he had pissed her off, and that wasn’t good.

She’d stayed angry all the way back to the shelter, and most of the way out here to her traps.

Now, however, she just feels spooked. Call it Starship Captain’s Intuition, but she has a feeling there is another storm brewing here.

Calmly, she puts her equipment back in the case. Her fingers snap the catches closed, lift the strap to her shoulder. The wind hasn’t moved anything in this clearing for long minutes. She barely hears the birdsong. She stands, and then turns.

Chakotay is there. 

He hasn’t approached. He is just there, looking at her, looking through her. Two black slates for eyes, and that pretty sad-angel mouth is a set one line.

“Chakotay!” she says, seeing all this, and what it means, but not wanting to. “I didn’t hear you.”

He says nothing. He might as well be stone. Her eyes follow his, and land on her breasts. The nipples through her dress. Her ribs beneath. For one moment, she has a vision of him cracking her chest and spreading her rib-bones to get to her heart, her literal heart. She thinks that he might.

Then he is on her. Mouth on hers, tasting different than before. Pushing hard, so she feels the bone beneath their skin. He’s kissing with his teeth, scraping them along her tongue.

His fingers dig into her cleavage and pull. Her strong coral dress is wrenched, exposing his meagre nervous lovebites of their earlier session, faintly purple on her nipples. They had barely even hurt.

Now he hurts. Pulling on her plait to haul her head back, eating her tongue like a snail from its shell. One of his hands is a claw on her breast, she feels the nails score her flesh as he rips it from her bra.

“Chakotay!” she protests, but this isn’t the moment.

Mouth off of hers, latching straight on to the exposed nipple. She is gasping, calling his name, hips pushing against him. She never dreamed he could really be like this.

“Oh God ...” she groans, as his fingers part her and assault her, shoving broadly inside her before she’s properly ready. She’s tight and squirming and tense, but he doesn’t care. His world is her breast, her cunt, her scent. “Oh yes ... yes ...” her voice is groaning, raw. His lips burn across the thin skin of her throat.

Her hands are pulling at his shirt, his pants, pulling at the thick stiff weight she feels within. “Take me,” she demands. While she isn’t wet. She is trying to pull him to the ground. 

He resists her, easily twisting her body in his grasp.

“Take me,” she insists.

He pulls away. His face is still a mask of torment. She sees how much she‘s fucked with his head today. “No,” he tells her. “Fuck you, Janeway, you don’t give orders here.”

Oh, but she so DOES. While he’s still looking at her with that amount of lust, panting after her every word, she’s in control here. And she really doesn’t like his insubordination.

“Then get off me,” she says.

He doesn’t move.

“I mean it, Chakotay. I’m not kidding.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks. “If I don’t?”

The options flash through her mind. The scared options. No one to hear her, no one to save her. She doesn’t think she can count on the primate. If she runs, she’s dead. He’ll find her, he knows the woods better, and survival is his strong suit, not hers.

But this is Chakotay. His whole Starfleet career is a called bluff. She doesn’t have to run from him ... he doesn’t have the fucking guts.

“I’m going home,” she tells him, and turns in his grip to pick up her case. Its nice scientific shape looks solid and comforting.

“No,” he says. “You’re not.” He holds on to her, the muscles in his arms over the bones, the strong strong bones. They hold her easily in place.

“Let go,” she warns him.

“Like I said ... or what?”

With that, he bends her forward and holds her head down by the hair, shoving her when she tries to get back up. It’s no accident that her butt is curved right up tight against his cock.

“Chakotay!” she complains. She’s in danger of looking a little dumb, to be honest. Quite unlike the Captain, if she’s brutal. He’s pushing her down like her will is unimportant. He’s messing up her hair.

“What’s the matter?” he jeers. “Isn’t this how you want me to be?”

“This isn’t funny!” she explodes, and this time, even she can hear the hysteria in her voice. 

“Who’s laughing .... Captain?” he spits, the hot moisture of his breath on the back of her neck as he leans into her curves.

The Captain isn’t here. The Captain left with her ship. The Captain only works in uniform, she only works with her neat little bun. No one would touch her like this, no one would dare to bend her over and press their cock against her, the Captain is untouchable. Unreachable.

“Let go of me, Commander, that’s a goddamn ORDER!”

But he doesn’t. He snatches his hand away from her, hits her head with it. Her head rings. “You DON’T give the fucking orders here!” he yells, right in her ear.

“Fuck you, you won’t rape me, you don’t have the guts!” she screams back. Part of her wants him to find the guts, though. At least he might surprise her.

“Try me, Kathryn,” he hisses. Then he grabs her.

She struggles again, wildly. It is futile. He has her too strongly. He hauls her through the woods, arms around her waist, her kicking legs off the ground the whole way. Straight for the shelter. 

Her heart sinks. So this is going to be one of those loving, reverent rapes, is it? All cosied up in the quiet of his bed? How fucking predictable.

Instead, he throws her into her bathtub.

Gasping, she surfaces soaked and shocked. Even then she expects him to get in with her, heat the water and worship her body like an idol.

Anything. Anything but what he does, which is to grab her hair and pull her out by it, letting everything get bruised and battered on the edge of the tub. She is dazed and confused, seeing stars when he bends her over the rim and rips off her wet knickers.

“Commander, I’m giving you a direct order!” she screams.

This gets her another whack round the back of the head, and one to her buttocks for good measure. “Listen to yourself, Kathryn!” he taunts. “Listen to yourself! You still think you can call the shots here.”

He shoves her again as he unbuckles his pants. “On this planet, I’m stronger than you, fitter than you, smarter than you. If I want to have you, I will. In fact, I fucking OWN your body here.”

That pisses her off. The uppity fucking bastard. There is NO WAY he’s getting it easily now. She bucks and struggles against him, wanting to twist somehow, get a knee in his balls. Then they’d see whose body was whose.

“Stop fighting me!” he yells.

Then he dunks her. Hand on the back of her head, he shoves her face in the bathwater, holds her whole head under. When he hauls her out again, she’s spluttering.

“You bastard!” she roars, beyond rage now.

He doesn’t even let her get a breath before he dunks her again. This time, while she’s under and struggling, he shoves two rough fingers deep inside her.

Drags her head out by the hair. Listens to her choke and gasp before thrusting the two broad fingers he had inside her in her mouth.

“You’re wet, Kathryn,” he tells her. “Beautiful and juicy and wet. Hell, if I didn‘t know you better, I‘d think you were ENJOYING this!”

“Fuck you,” she spits, sneezing water out of her nose.

“Guess you’re ready for another ducking,” he shrugs.

“No!” she screams as he pushes her face down again toward the water. Last time she had swallowed more than she cared to.

“Ready to be good then?” he asked, holding her face chin-deep. “Ready to hand that gorgeous body over to me?”

Well, when he put it like that ....

“Go fuck yourself!” she hisses, making sure she gets a good breath this time before she’s pushed under.

This time, he holds her till her lungs are bursting and all she sees are bright red dots before her eyes. While she’s under, he assaults her, too, hand between her legs, feeling and spreading her wetness. Oh, there’s no hiding how aroused she is. How she’s enjoying being broken.

By the time he pulls her head out of the water this time, she’s breathed enough in to be sick. Her body spasms as she brings it up, wretchedly, over the side of the tub.

He groans, feeling her body convulse. “I bet it feels good to be inside you while you’re doing THAT!” he exclaims.

She coughs and cries a little, blinking the water out of her eyes. She doesn’t know if she can do that again. Maybe she’s ready to let the real fun begin.

“No more ... Chakotay, please ...” she pants out.

He seems to brighten. “No more?” he asks.

“No ... please ...”

“Enough?”

“Yes! Enough. Please ... whatever ....”

He considers. “You know,” he says at last. “I don’t think I believe you.”

She screams as he ducks her again, all the way down to the water and under it, the sound streaming out of her mouth in bubbles, wasting her precious oxygen.

She writhes and struggles, hating this, hating it, wanting out of this water now, whatever it takes. He holds her longer than ever, long enough to panic her, long enough for the think he’d maybe lost it. Maybe he would let her drown.

She is not screaming when he brings her out, this time right out, and she collapses at his feet, sobbing. She barely has time to catch her breath before she’s on her knees, held by her hair, his cock in her mouth. She takes it, sucking its length while he groans and peels her soaking dress off.

She moans in pleasure while she’s sucking him. he tastes so good here on her knees, grateful she’s alive. So much goddamn better. Funny how things always seem so much sweeter after nearly dying.

“So that’s what it takes to get Kathryn Janeway going,” he grunts, echoing her thoughts. 

She grabs his buttocks and sucks harder. She still has that much control.

In the end, he has to rip her head away by the hair. “My fun’s not over yet, Janeway,” he tells her.

Obediently, she gets forward onto her hands and knees, offering her throbbing sex to him. She’s wet and swollen. All her skin is tingling. Each breath feels like her first and last.

Chakotay is panting at the sight of her. He breathes deeply, taking great lungfuls of her scent. His tongue is all but hanging out of his mouth.

This is the most perfect moment.

She wants him to take her. God she wants it. The breath is steaming out of her as her soaked plait drips on the grass. Drops of water run off her hard, aching nipples. Her belly is trembling. It needs to be filled with his seed.

He holds her hips. Just feeling her, and not too gently, either. His fingers will form long bruises on that oh-so-living skin of hers.

Oddly, she is reminded of Justin. Making love to Justin after he saved her from her Cardassian hell. That was the only other time she felt quite so right. Quite so fucking excited. The whole time she had wished a Cardassian had raped her. The thought had sickened her afterwards, but it was liberating. Wouldn’t Starfleet be disgusted?

Hell, wouldn’t they be disgusted now, watching her get fucked like a whore by her Maquis prisoner?

Well, maybe she is a whore. In her sanitised world, there wasn’t any room for what she and Chakotay were doing. Christ that made it SO much hotter.

He is pressing something at her entrance. Not his fingers, not his cock. Hard and cold.

“Wha ...” she gasps out, and he isn’t finished abusing her yet, it seems.

He shuts her up with a meaty hand over her mouth.

“I’ve met your type before,” he says. “Seska was one. You think they want you, you think they want your love, but all they want is a bit of rough. All they want is for the big Maquis guy to fuck them like sluts and impregnate them!”

She squeals into his hand as the object violates her, sliding frigidly into her wetness, uncaring and cleaving. Her muscles grip it gratefully, but it is cold and way too hard. He pumps it and it slides through her heat. She feels every lump and bump on it.

It’s the handle of his hammer, she realises, and screams again. The hammer he wears on his belt when he’s building.

It slides in and out of her, driving her mad, crazy, filling her head with thoughts of him making her bathtub, swinging it in his hands, his big bronzed fingers curled around the handle.

She comes. Not with the soft contented sighs she mustered earlier, but with a primal yell that rips from her throat and hangs there, ripping her voicebox as it goes on and on, through the woods around the shelter and further. A flock of birds take off from the treetops.

He has his fingers in her again, mercifully the hammer is discarded. She sees it lying uselessly beside her, covered in a thick white layer of her moisture. Her come.

He is preparing her for his cock. Opening her, dipping its swollen, hot head inside. How much better he feels this time. Before, their first time, it was comfortable and easy, but this is mindblowing. She has never felt so perfect.

He is in her to the hilt, the whole of him heavy and hot on top of her back. She is face down against the grass, being fucked hard. Her fingers curl into the soil of what she realises is her tomato bed. It’s clinging to her skin in sodden, wet clumps of mud, on her belly, breasts and face. She is wailing.

He is panting and groaning. She knows he’s not going to last long. Part of his breathing even sounds a little like crying. She feels bad. All he wanted was her to love him, all he wanted was a little tenderness. He clearly always chose the wrong women. No one ever wants Chakotay. Everyone always wants the Maquis.

He comes across her skin, and not inside her. All across her back, and she feels a tugging on her hair. As his breathing slows and her senses return, she realises that he’s stroking his cock with a piece of her braid. The sensitive tip being smoothed and wiped clean of his ejaculate.

He rolls away and they lie gasping in the mud. Not looking at each other. She doesn’t want to move. Part of her doesn’t want to face his unhappy face.

“Thank-you,” she says at last, before realising she’s echoing their earlier conversation.

He is silent for so long that eventually, she turns to face him.

He is looking at the sky. Naked, sweaty and splattered with mud and his own come. His expression is beatific. “Is that what you wanted, Kathryn?” he asks.

She stares at him for a long moment. “Yeah,” she hears herself reply. She shrugs, a little embarrassed, even.

He looks at her. They lock eyes. Then he takes her hand and holds it so tightly she feels the bones grind against one another. “It’s a start,” he says, and smiles.


End file.
